Death is Easy
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Ever wonder just how Napoleon and Illya escaped all those brushes with Death? Written for the 2016 Spook Me! Challenge.


Some will tell you that a job is a matter of perception. If you love what you do, you don't work a day in your life. Maybe that's true, but at the end of the day, a job is a job and there's nothing better than being able to walk away from it and put your feet up. Maybe watch a little TV and have a couple of beers with your friends.

Unless you are in my line of work. When people hear the term, The Grim Reaper, their minds immediately go to a lone figure, hunched over, his bony finger grasping his scythe. Well, a lot of that is true. I am all bones and robe, with a scythe by which I perform my less-than-admirable task of helping folks shake loose their mortal coil.

What they don't know is that there are dozens of us, each a near duplicate of the other. Some are a little taller or shorter, and there are both male and female reapers, but under a robe, who can tell the difference.

We sit quietly in a room until we are given a name and sent on our way. I don't mind the waiting. It gives me a chance to visit with my co-workers. We talk about the lives we used to have, the lives we hope to ascend to once we've met our quota, and about the people we've taken. Some reapers even notched the handles of their scythe as a way of marking time. Me, I just go from assignment to assignment. It's not much, but it's a living… except it's death.

It was a quiet Monday and there were just three of us awaiting appointments. The other two reapers weren't the talkative type, so I was sitting there, finding images in the scuffed linoleum of the waiting room floor. It wasn't much, but it passed the time and I've got nothing but time these days

"Hawthorn." My head came up with a jerk and I rose smoothly. The other two looked at me, envious that I would soon be roaming the earth in search of my victim. Well, we usually know where they are, but that doesn't sound all that mysterious, then, does it?

I walked into the office and the figure behind the desk held out a slip of paper. I glanced at the name and moaned.

"Not again. This is the seventh or eighth time I've been sent out for this joker."

"Perhaps this time you will be successful."

"That guy has more lives than a cat! Between him and his partner, they are going to live forever."

"Just do the best you can."

"If I see someone else?"

"Of course take advantage of any opportunity. An unscheduled death is always double points, but remember your primary target."

"How can I forget him?" The truth of the matter was that I had been hounding this guy for years. I'd gotten so close, then something would happen and he'd slip through my bony fingers. I stared at the name and grinned, well, what passes for a grin for a skeleton. "Illya Kuryakin, this time you are mine."

I hated going into the New York branch of UNCLE. The building had a funny smell to it and people seemed so determined to do what was right and proper that it rolled off them like an odd funk. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing with doing what was right, but the other mind frame was more profitable to my way of thinking.

People shivered as I passed, unseen, by them and they had no clue how close to Death were. I'd already resolved myself to the fact that it was very likely Kuryakin would be sitting up in bed talking to his partner by the time I arrived. Kuryakin had some kinda magic up his sleeve. For some reason, he seemed to be the world's whipping boy. Everyone took a shot at him and somehow, it never mattered.

I wandered through the corridor of Medical, reassured by the stench of pending death. I stopped in front of the room that is was wafting from, just relishing it. It's weird what sets you off after you die.

Walking in, I was confronting by a bed with a man perched by it. At first I through it was his partner. That man never left Kuryakin's side when he was in here. Of course, I'd come for him a few times, too, only to be turned away. These two would be the death of me, in a manner of speaking.

The man looked up and I moaned. "Hofniel, what are you doing here?" Hofniel was an angel, the designated 'fighter of God.' We'd locked horns a number of times because of these two.

He smiled and stroked his white beard. I used to have a beard, but that was centuries ago. I couldn't even tell you what color is was. "You are surprised?"

"Not really." I pulled up a chair and sunk into it. "What was is this time? Rescuing Timmy from the well? Saving a VW bus full of nuns from going over a cliff?" Kuryakin never did anything halfway.

"A building fell on him."

"Someone has it in bad for him." I reached out to touch his face, but Hofniel brushed my hand aside. "God, Hofniel, hasn't he suffered enough? Why do you keep persist in not letting me do my job?"

"Mine is not to reason why," he said, smiling sagely at me.

"Same here."

That's when he pulled out the deck of cards. "Let's play. Winner takes all."

I knew better than to play cards with angels, especially Hofniel. I think he counts cards. Still, I was bored and there was no telling how long Kuryakin would linger. "Sure, why not?"

He dealt using Kuryakin's chest as a playing surface. It was barely moving so there wasn't any problem. I looked at my cards, delighted that I'd gotten a fairly good hand. One thing about skeletons, we have a great poker face.

And so we played. People came and went, never even seeing us. At some point, I realized Kuryakin's eyes were open and he was staring at us. I leaned close, showing him my cards. "What do say, stand or fold?"

His eyes were wide. "What are you doing?" he whispered. He was so close to the edge of the veil, he was as much in our world as his.

"We are playing for souls, Mr. Kuryakin." Hofniel regarded his cards, frowning as he shifted them in his hand.

Kuryakin looked stunned, as if he didn't quite know what to make of the grim reaper and an angel playing cards.

Just then his partner staggered in. Solo didn't look all that much better than Kuryakin except he was not at death's door.

"Illya," Solo whispered and sat, barely hitting the chair. "What did they do to you?" He gathered up Kuryakin's hand. "Fight, Illya, fight."

"Is that what you want, Mr. Kuryakin?" Hofniel asked softly.

"So tired," was the murmured response.

"Please, partner, don't do this to me. Not now, not when we've just found each other."

"What's he talking about? Two cards." I discarded a seven and a five, both clubs.

"Love."

I looked at Kuryakin's face and knew what he meant. I picked up the cards and would have lost my breath if I'd had one to lose. Four of a kind, all aces. Talk about a winning hand.

Solo brought Kuryakin's fingers to his lips and kissed them tenderly. "Please, Illya, don't leave me now. Please. I can't… I won't…"

At first I thought Solo was going to break down and bawl like a baby, but he just took a shuddering breath and bowed his head, praying, I supposed.

"So do you want another card?"

Kuryakin's attention was on his partner and I saw such tenderness and longing in those eyes. "Naw, too rich for my blood. I fold."

Hofniel laughed and sat back. "Well, Mr. Kuryakin, it has been a pleasure and I hope that we won't see you again too soon. "Are you ready, Hawthorn?"

I started at that. "Ready for what?"

Hofniel smiled and offered me his hand. "I said I was playing for a soul, Hawthorn, but I never said whose. It's time to go."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was the grand prize, the golden ticket, the big everything. "But how?" I took it and felt my body growing light.

"When you refused to take him, even though you could, I knew you had truly become a good person. Come, Paradise is waiting for you."

"Do they have dogs in heaven? I've really missed my dog."

"He's waiting for you."

I glanced back at the bed. Kuryakin had woken up, this time on the other side of the veil and his partner was cradling him. "Let's go. And maybe you can teach me how to count cards. "


End file.
